


There and Sass Again - A Love Story

by Bead



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dwarf Courting, First Kiss, First Time, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Romance, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/pseuds/Bead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After arriving at Beorn's halls, Bilbo is conscripted into helping Óin rebandage Thorin's wounds.  And I'm not giving the rest away, except to be appalled at myself for embracing dwarrow humor so.  ::facepalms::</p><p>(Previously known as <i>Hurt/Comfort Humor Romance Dwarrow Courting Ritual Fic Which Stubbornly Remains Untitled.</i> Most humble thanks to Darth Stitch, muse wrangler and dear enabler.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Laughter and Liniment

**Author's Note:**

> Trust me, I'd name it if I could think of a good title.
> 
> Many thanks to kitrazzle, for vetting, moon_muse for this chapter title, and of course, Darth Stitch, for the new title of the whole shebang.
> 
> And oh do, please do, enjoy the artwork Ewebean so generously provided. :)

“Well, that’s the last of it,” Óin said as he fastened the final bit of the bandages around Thorin’s chest. “Off to bed with you, then, my king.” He gave his patient a gentle clap on the shoulder and turned to his assistant. 

“Bilbo, help him to his room, will you, while I clear these bits away? Just needs a steady arm, up the stairs, that’s a good lad.”

“Oh, well. I,” Bilbo said, a bit flummoxed. He knew how he ended up here, helping to bandage Thorin’s many cuts and bruises and watching Óin touch up a few sets of stitches that had pulled loose in their journey to Beorn’s hall, he just had not quite thought his participation all the way through. 

Azog’s mace had left a terrifying bruise in the middle of Thorin’s chest, but apparently, it was just bruising. Thankfully, the warg that had bitten into Thorin’s side and thrown him to the rocks had not punctured that far through his mail and all the layers the dwarrow favored, mainly just _mashed_ and bruised him horribly, cracked a couple of ribs, and left him with a few tooth punctures and a scrape that needed looking after, and one or two cuts from their time with the goblins. 

Most everyone had retired to their beds, but Bilbo, still in the throes of an odd need to make sure Thorin was within sight and healthy, had been operating under the ruse of enjoying an after dinner pipe with Gandalf (which, truthfully, he had enjoyed) while waiting for signs that Thorin had made it through the bath Óin ordered him to take, to clean out the wounds he’d field-patched after they left the Carrock and loosen Thorin’s clearly stiff muscles. 

Bilbo looked up at the sound of muffled cursing and scuffling, and to his surprise, it was not Kili and Fili – who were prone to such antics - that spilled into the great hall, but Thorin and Dwalin, the king attempting to fight off his right hand as Dwalin all but carried him into the room, both of them snarling like affronted cats. Dwalin dumped him on the table in front of Óin with a bone-jarring amount of venom from someone who was “helping.” 

“What in the world?” Óin said, glaring. “What’s gotten into the two of you? And Dwalin, if you’ve managed to goad him into pulling any stitches, I’ll thump you, be sure of it!” 

“He bit me,” Dwalin growled miming a cuff at his king’s head. Thorin mimed one right back, and scowled when Óin blocked it by simply placing one of his “cleansing washes” on a wound, causing him to muffle a yelp and wince. Dwalin laughed the laugh of the vindicated, and tossed a towel on the table as he left, Thorin glaring daggers at him all the way. 

Gandalf began to choke around his pipe, he was laughing so hard. Bilbo couldn’t quite laugh, too busy looking/not looking at….

“And what did you do with your clothes and your boots, lad?” Óin was asking Thorin, looking over his stitches. “It’s fine to treat you like this, but….”

“Dwalin gave them _all_ to be tended to, and there’s wasn’t a piece I could wear to bed that wasn’t wet.” 

“Where’d y’get the clean britches then?” Óin looked askance at the thin linen knee-length smallclothes that were folded down a few times, then tied tightly at Thorin’s waist, and still managed to dangle awkwardly around his calves.

“Dwalin provided them after some…persuasion. He never wears them except special occasions anyway.” 

Bilbo forgot how to smoke and coughed himself nearly insensate. Gandalf patted him amiably on the back. 

“Oh, Bilbo!” Óin bellowed genially. “Come help me, lad! This salve is a bit greasy and it’s better to have an extra hand with the bandages.” 

“Oh! Well. I,” Bilbo responded intelligently. Gandalf gave him a completely unnecessary kick. “Certainly, I’d be glad to.” He managed to get in a kick himself on Gandalf’s shin, which he disguised as a bit of a stumble. 

As he reached the table, Thorin, though still appearing a bit feral, battered and bruised with his half-dried hair waving down his back, looked at Bilbo with a spark of humor in his eyes as he greeted him. “Master Halfling,” he said, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Is it wise to kick a wizard?”

“Hobbit, please, if you cannot call me by my name, your dwarfish, excuse me, your _dwarrow_ majesty, ” Bilbo replied cheerfully, and lowered his own voice. “And I’ll let you know about that, if I wake up as a toad tomorrow.”

“You expect to still speak the common tongue as a toad, Halfling?”

“Hobbit,” Bilbo corrected him again, hitting the “t” hard. “I expect he’ll not leave me a completely helpless. Just greatly annoyed.” 

“Hobbit,” Thorin replied, echoing him. “Greatly annoyed,” he asked, a thread of laughter in his voice, though he cast a great scowl at Óin as he tended to a particularly tender spot. “Greatly annoyed; that would be different, how?” 

“Oh, you are one to talk, your regal grouchiness. You’ve fairly growled and snarled your way from my door to here.”

“Regal grouchiness?” Thorin said, his eyebrows at his hairline. 

“You do carry it off with a certain style,” Bilbo admitted. 

“If I bear the leadership of this company with a _certain style_ , then it is my business,” Thorin replied firmly, but not as angrily as Bilbo expected. They regarded one another a long moment. 

“Lad,” Óin said to Thorin. “I’m going to have to re-stitch this one a bit and, I’m warning you now, I’ll be using a bit of that cleansing wash you enjoy so very much.”

“If it is necessary,” Thorin said loudly, sighing. 

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t!” Óin replied. “Mead or Poppy milk?”

“Neither.”

“Thorin, lad…”

“How many stitches?”

“Two, three at the most.” 

“It will be fine.”

Óin sighed elaborately. “You!” he turned to Bilbo. “Keep doing whatever you’re doing to keep him still and quiet.” Bilbo, not taking his eyes off Thorin, nodded. 

“You don’t have to,” Bilbo said quietly as Óin began to work. Thorin was attempting not to flinch each time Óin dabbed at his cut. Bilbo made a note to never need stitches or that particular wash if a stoic, thick-hided dwarf was wincing.

“I would like to keep the use of my arm,” Thorin gritted through his teeth, and then sighed as Óin put aside the offending medicine. 

“No, I mean…”

“I want this over, so I can go to my bed. And it’s only two stitches. I dislike poppy milk’s effects, and mead takes too long,” Thorin explained. He braced himself against the table and waited for Óin’s needle.

“No, I understood what you meant.” Bilbo assured him. “What I meant was you don’t have to bear…I mean if you wanted to talk to someone,” he stumbled over his words. “Not that you don’t have anyone to talk to, I know that many of the company are old friends or family or both.” He watched, trying not to wince as the needle went into Thorin’s skin. Thorin hissed and breathed through his teeth. 

“W-would you like to hold my hand?” Bilbo stepped closer and held his out. “I hear it helps.” 

A range of expressions Bilbo couldn’t quite parse washed over Thorin’s face, and finally, he was granted an incredulous and pained smile. “I would crush it, Master Hobbit.”

“Baggins. No, you wouldn’t.” Bilbo flapped his hand impatiently. He glanced up and over to Óin. Óin, the old not that deaf dog, slid his eyes over to Bilbo, smiled, and held his needle well out of the way of Thorin’s skin. He winked.

“Quick, he’s about to start the next stitch.” Bilbo flapped his hand again. Thorin took it with a certain amount of bemusement. He gave a soft grunt as the next stitch began, and Bilbo squeezed his hand comfortingly. Thorin held his gaze steadily as he suffered through being stitched, (far more than two stitches, he suspected) and Bilbo did the best he could to maintain just as steady a glance, offering what comfort Thorin would allow. Thorin did not squeeze Bilbo’s hand until Óin was done and dabbing the blood away from his skin, and when he did it, it was gentle and slow. Bilbo returned the same pressure and kept hold as Óin continued to tend to Thorin.

“I see you, you know,” Bilbo said softly. “Sitting outside the circle of the fire, keeping your distance from everyone, even your nephews, and I understand, I really do. I, I’ve been a landlord long enough and read enough to know you need to keep your distance a bit from people you supervise or command. If you ever wanted to talk something over with someone – not that I’m holding up myself as any great master tactician or diplomat, or equal to a king gracious, no – but just someone not related to you, or someone who saw you grow up or…I’m not one of your subjects, so that would put me out of the chain of command, I suppose. I’m a good listener. Anyway. I’m offering.” 

“Thank you,” Thorin said slowly. “That is very kind, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo rocked up on his toes, pleased. “Bilbo.” 

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Master Bilbo.” 

“Thank you, just Bilbo.” 

“Will you correct me every time I say your name?”

“I will correct you until you call me Bilbo. Or late for dinner.”

“What happens if I call you late for dinner?” 

“One word; scorched earth pantry policy.”

“That is four words.”

“Three of them are to distract you from my stealing your food.”

“Which one is not?”

“That would be giving away trade secrets.” 

“There’s a trade in eating pantries bare?”

Bilbo looked at him. “Were you not conscious the evening you spent in my house?”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “The dining was very meager.” 

“Because your company literally ate me out of house and home! Had to walk out the front door the very next day. Not a scrap of food left! I tell you now, I left the Shire simply because I assumed you lot had cleared out all the food. I was trying to get ahead of the stampede!”

Thorin’s lips twitched. “I have seen you at table, it is dangerous to keep a hobbit from his food.” 

“I wasn’t trying to retrieve the ponies, really, you know, back with the trolls. Those blokes had a goodly sized pot of soup and I just wanted a decent meal! Of course, I never imagined their dinner invitation meant that I’d be a _part_ of dinner. I should have said straight away I had parasites in my tubes. I’ll bring it up in the introductions, I think, next time I meet a troll. Just to be on the safe side. 'Bilbo Baggins, pleased to meet you. Parasites in m'tubes.' Yes.”

Thorin snorted and shook silently. Óin made a noise like an aborted wheeze, then turned it into a cough while smacking Thorin for shaking. Behind them, Gandalf choked on his pipe again. 

“And the elves! You didn’t think I was simply spending all that time in library, did you? And you assumed the elves were giving you green food to mock you. Not true. I raided their pantries, all of them. Ate every sausage. Foiled the lot of ageless wise creatures and nicked every last one. All they had left was salad. All _you_ lot had was salad.” 

Thorin began to chuckle, a low, rusty sound. “Hobbit,” he said fondly. 

“Are we back to that? Bil-bo. _Bil_ -bo. And,” he said dramatically, dropping Thorin’s hand to strike a pose, one finger in the air, the other hand in his braces. “I revenged my pantry. Had indigestion for two days running, and, thanks to you, one of them was actual running, but I. Had. My. Revenge.”

Thorin truly, finally, laughed this time, a great big bark of a laugh, his smile white and wide as he continued to chuckle. A moment later, [Dwalin exploded out of the sleeping area with a roar, entirely naked save for his tattoos and battleaxes. ](http://bead-bead.tumblr.com/image/70163829722) Thorin guffawed, Óin and Gandalf not far behind him. 

Dwalin let out a string of Khuzdul curses. “Well, pardon me for not recognizing your laugh after not hearing it for a _decade._ I thought we were being attacked by donkeys.” 

There was a pause while everyone absorbed that.

“I’m really only seeing one ass here,” Bilbo said with dignity. Thorin's shoulders began to shake again, as did Óin's, little snickers escaping. “Seeing it all too clearly. And it’s far, far more than I ever wanted to see.” He paused. “And I will never unsee it.” Thorin, very gratifyingly, howled with laughter. 

“Harrumph,” Dwalin harrumphed, and stomped off, but not without a parting shot, dare Bilbo say, a cheeky one, of the most prolonged fart Bilbo had ever had the occasion to hear. Though the laughter didn’t quite diminish, exactly, Bilbo felt three sets of eyes – a wizard and two dwarrow – turn to him, as apparently he was the sole arbiter of good behavior in the room. 

“Frankly,” Bilbo said with great affront. “I’m disappointed that didn’t cause Dwalin to collapse completely.” He demonstrated such a collapse with his hands and made a rude noise to accompany himself. Behind him, Gandalf’s laugh took on a high, keening pitch, and Thorin and Óin just elected to collapse on one another and snort helplessly. 

“Ow,” Thorin said, still chuckling a little, when he finally caught his breath. 

“Oh, tch, your poor ribs, I’m sorry, lad,” Óin fussed, and helped Thorin sit up straight. 

“Oh, dear.” Bilbo worried, wringing his hands. He’d meant to _help_ Thorin, not…

“It’s fine, it’s fine, Óin,” Thorin assured him, though he did flinch a little as he settled himself. 

“Actually, they’re still cracked,” Gandalf said kindly, suddenly quite close. Óin drew back and let Gandalf place a hand on Thorin’s forehead. He whispered a few words under his breath, and then held his hand over Thorin’s side. Thorin swallowed hard and made a grunt of surprise as he sat up straighter and pressed a hand to his ribs.

“Thank you, Gandalf,” he said with gruff gratitude. 

“You are most welcome, Thorin.” Gandalf twinkled affectionately at the king, very pleased, and clapped him on the shoulder with a careful hand.

“Well, why didn’t you do that before?” Óin asked, exasperated. “And you couldn’t have healed the cuts?” 

“Hmmm, healing is not my chief talent, and I have to…I suppose the best way to say it is I must renew my strength a bit after using it. Doesn’t come easily to me, you see. And use it I did, the other day on the Carrock, and healed as much as I could.” 

He gently pointed at the worst of the bruising in the center of Thorin’s chest. “Ribs away from the breast bone, here, and the crack in his hard head, but had to leave the rest alone. Thought I wouldn’t have the strength to heal the cracked ones for a while, bones take a bit of doing, might heal on their own first, but….”

He beamed at all of them. “Love and laughter are powerful magic in any circumstance, and being around that always lends me strength. Very healing in itself for anyone, really.”

“Y-You don’t mean to tell me that fart jokes can renew your magic, do you?” Bilbo asked faintly, trying to grasp at _something_ , mind still reeling from Gandalf’s list of Thorin’s wounds. 

“No, Master Bilbo,” Gandalf said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder Bilbo’s shoulder and smiling at him from under his brow. “That is not what I mean to tell you at all. But it didn’t hurt. Goodnight!” He swaggered out, his robes swirling, as they called their goodnights and thanks after him. 

“Wizards, honestly. Merrily say your king could have died horribly from a ill-timed sneeze without his aid, add something cryptic and sweep out,” Óin muttered as he double-checked Thorin’s ribs to his own satisfaction. “Now, let’s get you bandaged, before you get more salve on my last clean shirt or fall over laughing and grease Master Beorn’s table,” Óin said tartly. “I’m ready for bed.” 

“You have my thanks, Óin,” Thorin said. “Apologizes for keeping you up so-“

“Oh, lad, I’m not fussing.” Óin murmured and gave him a pat as he fussed and checked Thorin's ribs a third and fourth time while Thorin waited patiently. “I wouldn’t have missed that laugh for the world. Knew there was more to his whispering than waking you, the cagey bastard..." Thorin finally put a heavy hand on Óin's shoulder and gave the old dwarf a reassuring pat of his own.

"Oh, ach, stop listening to a jealous old healer. And here,” Óin added, pouring a man-sized mug of water. “Drink this. All of it. If I remember correctly, that confounded magic can make ye a bit parched.” 

As Thorin drank, Óin gathered up his bandages, handed them to Bilbo, and smeared a great deal more of his wound salve on Thorin’s chest, complaining about the great shaggy pelt of hair he had to work through, while Thorin tried to keep out of his way and drink his water. Bilbo swallowed hard. Thorin’s chest wasn’t _that_ shaggy, and his hair actually looked rather soft. 

Óin put a large clean flannel pad over of Thorin’s chest and stomach, covering the worst of the bruise and puncture wounds, and had Thorin hold it in place. He moved do the same salve treatment to Thorin’s back, and asked Bilbo to hold Thorin’s hair out of the way. 

Bilbo moved to do it in a bit of a trance, having always admired Thorin’s long, thick hair. It took both hands to gather it up and hold it above Thorin’s right shoulder, well away from Óin’s work. It was soft from washing, still a little damp, and clung to his fingers, trying to slip away, so he twisted it a bit, into a rope, and could not help but caress the long fall of it as he did so. Thorin inclined his head toward Bilbo as he worked. 

“Am I pulling?” Bilbo asked softly, darting an embarrassed look at Thorin. 

Thorin looked at him, sidelong, a warm glance. “No.” He ducked his chin a bit, and Bilbo caught the edge of a small smile. 

“It’s just that it keeps trying to escape,” Bilbo confided. 

Thorin huffed a small laugh. “Master Hobbit.” His voice was fond.

“Baggins,” Bilbo coaxed. 

“Master Baggins,” Thorin answered obediently.

“Bilbo.”

“Master Bilbo.”

“Just Bilbo.”

“Just Bilbo.”

“What am I going to do with you, your majesty?” Bilbo sighed, moving the tail of Thorin’s hair even further out of the way as Óin placed flannel on Thorin’s back and began to wind a long bandage around his middle to hold the two pads in place. 

The two of them did a little dance, of sorts, around Thorin. Óin taking up Thorin’s hair in one hand while Bilbo wrapped the bandage snugly around the front of Thorin’s body, so close to him it was nearly a hug, their faces nearly brushing as he worked. He’d hand the bandage off to Óin just under Thorin’s right arm, who could get it around his back, and then it would be Bilbo’s turn to make the pass under the left arm and across. 

Bilbo glanced at Thorin once during the process and Thorin looked back, tilting his chin just so, almost close enough to…and Bilbo couldn’t breathe, could hardly see for the rush of fire that ran through him. He tore his eyes away and handed the end of the bandage to Óin, hands shaking, blushing, he was sure, to his toes. He could feel the warmth of Thorin's breath against his cheek, not quite a sigh, and swallowed hard. Óin handed Bilbo Thorin’s hair as he wrapped the bandage over Thorin’s opposite shoulder, covering the small bit of flannel over the stitches he’d repaired. Bilbo shuffled over a step or two.

Staring sightlessly at Thorin’s shoulder, idly watching the play of firelight over his skin, Bilbo felt a small tug at his side. Looking down, he saw Thorin’s fingers curled into hem of his ruined waistcoat.

“Bilbo.” he said, voice low.

Still dazed, Bilbo’s mouth moved on automatic, “Yes, your maj-“

Thorin’s strong fingers twisted the cloth sharply. “Thorin,” he corrected, so gentle, almost a question, and looked at Bilbo from the corner of his eye. 

Before Bilbo could draw a breath, Thorin was turning away to sit up straight for Óin, and Óin was speaking, and Bilbo had to remember how to get his ears to work for anything but Thorin’s voice.

“Well, that’s the last of it,” Óin said, as he fastened the final bit of bandages around Thorin’s chest. “Off to bed with you, then, my king.” He gave his patient a gentle clap on the shoulder and turned to his assistant. 

“Bilbo, help him to his room, will you, while I clear these bits away? Just needs a steady arm, up the stairs, that’s a good lad.”

“Oh, well. I,” Bilbo said, a bit flummoxed. 

“Go on now,” Óin said, shooing at them both, and tossing Bilbo a towel to wipe any salve off his hands. “And my thanks for the help. Bilbo, he’s not made of glass, and Thorin, neither is Master Baggins, so let him help you.” He did, however, give Thorin an arm off the table, and poked at few bruises on his side that he’d not poured over, heading right down his flank until Thorin slapped at his hands. Óin motioned Bilbo forward and _tipped him a wink_ of all things, the meddler. 

Bilbo was both distant from and acutely aware of their walk across the long hall and up the stairs. He was intimately conscious of Thorin’s arm around his shoulder, the warmth of his body, how small and bare his feet were, the livid bruise down his side that dipped under the waistband of his breeches, that Bilbo, arm around Thorin’s waist, wanted to be careful of brushing against all while wanting to press closer to all that warm skin, and oh, how very, very little Thorin was wearing. 

He was also conscious of a sort of haze, a hush that had fallen around them, a kind of prickly-soft hair-raising feeling like before a thunderstorm, built of the evening’s laughter and small glances, touches both casual and deliberate, plus all the wrangle of their relationship before. It was heavy, cutting off conversation, and it moved with them, gathering force at every step. Part of Bilbo Baggins (the Took part) was was yearning toward whatever storm might come, but the other part of him, the Baggins part of him, was still back about a quarter hour ago, boggling over Bilbo flirting with a _king_ and what, exactly, was he doing? 

“And here we are,” Bilbo began pleasantly as they reached the door, forcing himself to break the long silence. Thorin simply turned and embraced him as he had on the Carrock, curling around Bilbo, and Bilbo found himself pressed closer than he'd been all evening against warm, clean honey-and-medicinal herb-smelling skin and soft hair. Like the embrace on the Carrock, it was heady and overwhelming in the nicest way possible, and Bilbo found himself clinging a bit as he returned the hug. 

“Thank you,” Thorin murmured, and Bilbo tightened his arms carefully. 

“My pleasure,” he whispered back. “Truly.” 

Thorin stepped back with that same gesture he’d used on the Carrock, holding on to Bilbo’s shoulders and casting a long, slow glance from Bilbo’s face downward as he eased away. As before, it caused Bilbo’s entire body to flush, and this time, he began to believe the glance meant what he thought it meant, then suddenly, blue eyes were gazing into his with an intense, soft expression, strong arms drew him in once more, and Thorin was quite thoroughly claiming Bilbo's mouth with lips that were warm and soft. 

If Bilbo had imagined privately how Thorin Oakenshield kissed (and his private thoughts were just that, thank you) he’d expect a demanding, aggressive kiss, but this was certainly not that. Thorin kissed as if he were tasting Bilbo with careful delight, kissing as if kindly and patiently asking a question, far more patient than Bilbo ever dreamed possible, and the surprise of it all, the intimacy of such unexpected sweetness, the _difference_ in Thorin’s demeanor made Bilbo gasp into the kiss and tilt his head his head for more. 

At Bilbo’s response, Thorin’s patience broke free for a breathtaking moment as he made a noise that could not be called anything but a growl, and took Bilbo’s mouth with enough passion to curl Bilbo's toes. He could not help but shiver and make a small sound of appreciation. 

Thorin choked off his answering soft groan, and Bilbo could feel him snap a tight leash on himself, and that coiled restraint just made Bilbo’s knees all the more unsteady. The kiss was gentled all too quickly, and Thorin pulled away to press a sweet kiss on Bilbo’s forehead, each eyelid, his cheeks, a soft, chaste kiss to his mouth, and then he took one of Bilbo’s palms, kissed it, and placed it over his own heart, then mirrored the same gesture over Bilbo’s heart.

Thorin’s eyes were serious, but with a hint of joy in them, his mouth berry-red from kissing, and even with his bandages and bruises and cuts, he was the most beautiful thing Bilbo had ever seen. He looked at Bilbo, a soft and humble gaze that stole the breath and said simply, “Think on it, Bilbo.” 

He pressed a final kiss to Bilbo’s palm, took one step backwards, and eyes never leaving Bilbo’s, shut the bedroom door in his face. 

“What was that?” Bilbo whispered to himself. He stood there, transfixed for several moments. No, truly, what _was_ that? A question, surely, an offer, more than likely. And it had a hint of ritual to it. Bilbo touched a hand to his lips, closing his eyes against the flood of recent memory that assaulted him as he thought; the smell of Thorin’s skin, the strength of his arms, the passion hidden behind that normally stern, thin mouth, now red from Bilbo’s answering kisses, his lower lip damp and shining….there was no hope for it. He needed to know. Bilbo knocked on the door. 

When Thorin opened it, his expression was hooded and slightly wary. 

“Pardon me,” Bilbo said, his voice breathier than he expected. “But that was a question, clearly, but a very specific-seeming question, and…well, I certainly am not going to be able to sleep until I know exactly what it is I’m thinking on.” 

Thorin dropped his head. “I should have known you would not understand,” he said, and sighed heavily. 

Stepping forward onto the threshold of the room, he reached out a tentative hand. “I very much want to. Understand.” 

“Come all the way in, then, Master Baggins,” Thorin said, resigned, but with a thread of humor in his voice, opening wide the door. 

“Bilbo,” he blurted reflexively, as he walked a few steps in and Thorin shut them in together.

“Bilbo,” Thorin replied, lingering over his name in a way that was more a caress than a command. 

Bilbo obediently turned to face him. Thorin was cloaked in firelight and shadow, but his eyes were quite clear in the half-darkness, and the banked intensity in them, the sheer power there should have made Bilbo want to flee, but he found he wanted to see it in full, bask in it. He stepped forward, well into Thorin’s reach. 

“Help me understand, please,” he asked. 

Thorin reached out slowly and drew Bilbo to him, hand heavy at the nape of his neck. Bilbo’s eyes drifted closed as Thorin leaned in. A kiss to his forehead: “I wish to know your mind, hear your opinions,” he murmured. Kisses to Bilbo’s eyelids; “I wish to see the world through your eyes. Kisses to his cheeks: “I wish to share in your laughter and your tears.” 

Finally, his mouth, an achingly soft kiss: “I desire you,” Thorin said in a midnight voice, and brushed his lips against Bilbo’s after, clearly restraining himself from another kiss. “I wish to share my body with you,” he added, his voice dropping even lower, and Bilbo just barely repressed a whimper. Thorin’s hand tightened on Bilbo’s neck, and this time, Bilbo couldn’t bite back the small, longing sound. 

Thorin took a shaking breath and stepped back, clasped Bilbo’s hand, pressed an ardent kiss to the palm and placed it over his heart. “I wish you to know my heart.” He placed his own palm over Bilbo’s heart. “I wish to know yours.” 

Hand shaking, Bilbo stroked where Thorin had placed his hand, careful of the bruises beneath, and struggled to speak. “That is a kingly offer,” he rasped. 

Thorin cradled Bilbo’s hand against his chest, pressing it close. “I ask as myself, not a king.” 

“Still, I am just a simple hobbit.”

“You were never simple. Only someone blind and deaf to your worth, as I was for too long, would think so.” 

Bilbo inhaled sharply, trembling from head to toe. “Please tell me this is not some bedding ritual, or dwarrow life debt thing, that you do not,” his voice broke, and he had to take a moment to breathe. “ _Offer_ yourself because I…”

Thorin plucked Bilbo’s hand from his chest, clasped it in his, and twined both together over his heart. “If I wanted a tumble, I’d have asked you to come to my bed for the night. If this was a life debt, I would have said, ‘I owe you a life debit.’ And I would have protected you all your days.”

“Even if I went back to the Shire?” 

They stood looking at one another for a long moment, and Bilbo dropped his eyes. 

“If that is what you wished,” Thorin said slowly. “I would ask you allow me to see Erebor settled and whole, and then I would come with you. Or to you, if you could not stay. If I cannot have both, I would follow you.”

The depth of the offer shook Bilbo to the core. “ _If_ you felt you owed me a life debt.” 

“I do owe you a life debt, Bilbo, but I am too greedy and too drawn to you to live beside you in simple service. If you would have me, have all of me.”

“Why?” Bilbo whispered, swaying, nearly lost, unable to look at him.

Thorin raised their clasped hands and kissed Bilbo’s knuckles. “Do you know how many of dwarrow I asked to join me on this quest? How many kings and warriors, how many that I have fought and led and lived and _bled_ with, lie idle waiting to see if I fail as my father and grandfather failed? And you. I shower you with cruelty, refuse to see your worth, and you walk through a mountain of goblins, _shrug_ and offer to help me take back my home, simply because you know the value and comfort of a home, and believe that I – and my people - deserve the same.” 

Thorin reached out with his free hand and lifted Bilbo’s chin to look into his eyes. “You shrug, and offer yourself, like such a precious gift is nothing. And then you, no warrior, no training, leap in front of orcs and wargs to save my life, to save me from my own rash deed, and want nothing but thanks and to see me well.” He smiled and traced his thumb across Bilbo’s cheekbone. “And, apparently, to see me laughing, too. Courage, humility, generosity, intelligence, humor, compassion, and forgiveness? How can I not reach for a heart such as yours? How could I not want to have you beside me? You are no common anything, Bilbo Baggins.”

“Hobbits give their hearts but once, Thorin,” Bilbo warned, nearly lightheaded and fighting not to sway into Thorin’s touch. 

“As do we. As will I. As _do_ I.” 

Bilbo, breath hitching, he untangled himself from Thorin’s hands and took a few steps backwards, holding up one finger to answer Thorin’s soft sound of dismay. 

“You asked me to think on it.”

“You do not have to think _here_.” Thorin said with slow concern. “If you are uncomfort-“

“If I walk out that door, I will convince myself by morning this was a dream brought on by excess elderberry preserves and Gandalf’s pipe weed.”

“Bilbo…”

“Shhh!” Bilbo covered his face for a moment, to steady his breathing. He heard the distant clunk of Thorin possibly hitting the back of his head against the door. “And do try not to injure yourself further, please,” he said as tartly as he could. It came out far too shaky. 

Long moments passed as Bilbo mastered his breath, examined his thoughts, and looked into his heart, which was beating near out of his chest in a tangle of delight, surprise, desire and who knew what else. It was very important that Bilbo get to the bottom of that tangle before he answered Thorin, so he took his time and unraveled it, pruned the last thoughts of Thorin offering himself out of obligation away, tried to tie back some of his feelings of unworthiness (a king!), looked at his expectations…and asked himself, oh, he asked himself some very pointed questions indeed. 

“Bilbo,” Thorin finally whispered, the plainest, softest of pleas. 

Bilbo raised his head, his breathing now finally as steady as his convictions. “Just another moment,” he answered just as softly, and simply looked at Thorin, hiding nothing. Thorin was resting against the door, and likely _had_ beat his head against the wood, the idiot. 

Instead of frustration, he was looking at Bilbo with ill-concealed and sinking hope, but after a moment of Bilbo’s returned gaze, a spark kindled within him, his body loosened, his hands opened at his sides and he smiled the most tender, shy smile Bilbo had ever had the pleasure of seeing. 

Thorin waited for him, regal in bruises, bandages and borrowed, draggled smallclothes, visibly eased by sharing Bilbo’s glance, his expression vulnerable and honest, his great hurt heart open for Bilbo to see and hear and feel, calling to him, calling _for_ him. The last of the tangle in Bilbo’s heart fell away.

He stepped forward, and reached up to cup Thorin’s face in his hands. “Lean down, you majestic oaf,” he whispered. Thorin treated him to a quick flash of his full smile as he obeyed, a smile, which, if Bilbo had not planted himself firmly and put a bit of starch in his spine, would have taken him out at the knees. Thorin looked at Bilbo’s mouth, clearly thinking that this is where they were headed, but at a murmur from Bilbo, and a quick, surprised glance, Thorin hesitantly bent down.

Bilbo still had to push up on his toes a bit as he slowly kissed Thorin’s forehead, and had to firm his resolve to do this properly at the resulting choked, relieved sigh and the hands that stole around his waist. He pressed on, trembling slightly as he kissed Thorin’s fluttering eyelids, his cheeks, and when he reached Thorin’s mouth, they were both were drawing ragged, unsteady breaths. Bilbo concentrated on putting the best of himself into the chaste press of his lips against Thorin’s, because the only way to answer was with his whole heart, and Bilbo was eager to give it. 

Thorin made a sound of pure longing, mouth opening slightly beneath Bilbo’s, and it was impossible not to steal another kiss, impossible not to tilt his head, press further, carefully lick the swell of Thorin’s lip, impossible not take advantage of the resulting soft moan to sweep in and kiss Thorin with passion of his own, possibly not as dramatic and explosive as the secretly romantic heart of his dwarf, but as full of the promise of pleasure and comfort as a hobbit could offer.


	2. Great Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many feels and kisses, and the maturity rating rises a bit.

_Bilbo still had to push up on his toes a bit as he slowly kissed Thorin’s forehead, and had to firm his resolve to do this properly at the resulting choked, relieved sigh and the shaking hands that stole around his waist. [….] Thorin’s, because the only way to answer him was with his whole heart, and he was glad to give it._

_Thorin made a sound of pure longing, mouth opening slightly beneath Bilbo’s, and it was impossible not to steal another kiss, impossible not to tilt his head, press further, carefully lick the swell of Thorin’s lip, impossible not take advantage of the resulting soft moan to sweep in and kiss Thorin with passion of his own, possibly not as dramatic and explosive as Thorin’s, but as full of the promise of pleasure and comfort as a hobbit could offer._

~~~

Despite Thorin’s hands at his waist supporting him, Bilbo’s position on his toes was too hard to bear for long, and he eased himself back on his heels slowly. Thorin did not back away from the kiss, but tightened his hands and chased after Bilbo’s mouth, curling himself around Bilbo as if not being as close as possible was too much to bear. 

“Dear one,” Bilbo murmured, smiling against Thorin’s mouth. “You will eventually have to release me. You should not spend all night huddled kissing against the door.” 

“I am well enough,” Thorin murmured in reply, his hands restless on Bilbo’s back, tugging him closer yet, flush against his belly. “And well content.” Bilbo moaned, feeling exactly how content Thorin felt through his thin breeches, and gasping, broke away from Thorin’s mouth, his head falling back. 

Thorin shifted, one hand cradling Bilbo’s head, the other stroking down to cup Bilbo’s arse to keep him pressed against his belly. His mouth latched onto Bilbo’s throat, finding a tender place just under his ear that set Bilbo on fire. He trembled, and Thorin purred deep in his throat, and rubbed himself against Bilbo in a languorous, luscious slide, catching the head of Bilbo’s cock at each pass. 

“Óin will have my hide if you do not rest,” Bilbo groaned, torn, hands blindly seeking warm skin that was not too bruised to hold. Thorin hissed through his teeth, and Bilbo pulled away to turn Thorin slightly to see where he’d touched. He had his hand right on a bruise on Thorin’s arm that was still nearly black, part of the collection acquired, presumably, when the warg has tossed Thorin on the rocks. 

“ _Dwalin_ will have my hide if you do not rest,” he said ruefully. “And given his last state of dress when battle ready, I shudder to confront such a sight.” 

Thorin caught his mouth for a thorough taste. “Stop speaking of other naked dwarrow, and rest _with_ me. I would have you sleep next to my heart, ghivashel.” He made no move toward the bed, but threaded his hand in Bilbo’s hair and tenderly bit at the hobbit’s mouth, holding his lower lip pleated between his teeth, a caress Bilbo had never had, never heard of before, yet so, so, the could barely think, fire under his skin, just hang on and feel. Thorin kept him caught there, between lazy hips and sharp teeth, until Bilbo did not tremble but shook from head to foot, panting on the edge of surrender, his hips pulsing helplessly and without conscious thought against Thorin’s. 

“Stay by my heart, ghivashel,” he asked again. “Rest with me.” 

“Ghivashel?” Bilbo whispered, voice shaking, drunk on Thorin’s presence, his kisses, and such tender, unexpected words. 

“Beloved,” he kissed into Bilbo’s mouth. “Treasure of all treasures.” A last, slightly less overwhelming kiss and Thorin backed away slightly, freeing Bilbo from his embrace. He touched Bilbo’s cheek and gazed, grave and beautiful, into Bilbo’s eyes. He waited a moment to let Bilbo catch his breath and his sanity. 

“Please, ghivashel. Stay with me this night.” 

“Just this night?” Bilbo half-teased, still trembling. Thorin swayed closer. 

“And any night, every night from this night on,” he said humbly. “I would not be parted from you, Bilbo.” 

“Thorin,” Bilbo breathed, moved. Grateful tears pricked behind his eyes. “I once thought you cold, ruthlessly shutting yourself off to softer feelings. That you fought to deny them. You just keep them well hidden, my great heart. It is strange to remember it now. Dearest one.” Thorin took Bilbo’s hand and smiled a small, sweet smile. 

“That is the third time you have called me by my name,” he said, voice low and grateful and fond. He looked humble and young and Bilbo ached for him. “I had not thought such a simple thing would move me so. I have gone from dear to dearest one, a great improvement.” He kissed Bilbo’s palm, lingering and sweet. “And it is the third time I have asked, but you have still not said if you would stay with me.” 

Bilbo turned his wrist to take Thorin’s hand and pressed it over his heart. “I will stay, Thorin. Gladly, I will stay with you. This night and all others.” 

“Bilbo,” he breathed in relief, and wrapped around him in a tender hug. “My Bilbo.” They stayed there a long moment, until Bilbo became aware of a tremor deep within Thorin’s muscles, like a pony pushed too far. 

“Come, dearest,” he said softly. “I can feel your weariness.” 

Thorin sighed as he pulled away. He hooked his fingers in Bilbo’s braces and looked at him from beneath his brow, that humble, shy look on his face again. “May I feel your skin next to mine, ghivashel? Please?” 

“Of course.” 

His braces were by his sides in the next second, Thorin’s hands pushed aside his waistcoat and reached for his shirt buttons with fingers that shook a bit. After the third fumble, he sighed tiredly and set about trying again, when Bilbo stilled his hand, which he then wrapped around his waist. Thorin gave him a shy, rueful look. “Do you know what it does to me,” Bilbo said as he worked on his buttons. “To see you like this, to hear you say ‘please?’ To me? Not from the need to see you humble, but from joy; to know that you allow yourself to open your heart like that, to me.” 

“I see you,” he continued, as he shrugged off his shirt and moved to put it, and the fallen waistcoat, on a chair. “I see flashes of your great heart from time to time, when you cannot keep it from your face. With your nephews, in a quiet moment, or Dwalin and Balin. When you are worried, or are as merry as you allow yourself to be in front of the company. And I always rejoiced to see it, because that’s why I followed you. That, and to prove I was no grocer.” 

Thorin ducked his head, snorting softly with amusement, and Bilbo took the opportunity to shuck out of his pants, always having found that bit of disrobing for a lover awkward. When he turned from putting them on the chair, Thorin was taking him in, eyes blazing, his hands flexing at his sides, obviously wanting to touch. 

“It was when you sang,” Bilbo continued. “That I saw your heart first, and the next morning, when you left, my house rang with emptiness.” Bilbo went to him, hands out, and Thorin met him with a look that made Bilbo’s heart swell with joy. A soft, deep kiss, and Thorin drew Bilbo beside the bed. He turned to light the candle, while Bilbo rested his hands on Thorin’s waist, contemplating the tangle of fabric at the top of his breeches. 

“Shall I?” he asked softly, touching the tie. “I wish to feel your skin as well, and a lot of it is covered by bandages. 

Thorin rested his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders. “Please.”

Bilbo closed his eyes and trembled. “Thorin,” he breathed, and swallowed hard. 

Thorin’s hand slid up Bilbo’s shoulder to cup his cheek. “I love you, you know.” 

_“Thorin,”_ Bilbo replied, voice shaking. “Thorin.” He took a steadying breath. “I will not say it back just to say it,” he said fiercely, tears trembling in his eyes. “I will not say it until you feel my heart reaching for you as I feel yours. 

“Do you think I do not?” Thorin thumbed a tear from Bilbo’s cheek and twined their hands over his heart. “Do you not believe _my_ words?” 

Bilbo nodded. “Both word and action, truly. Dwarrow are not hasty with their thoughts or their affections. I can see that. I see you - with the exception of certain runs toward white orcs – I know you are very stubborn and not hasty in the slightest. Except for that noted…” 

Thorin talked over him, voice gentle. “I am here by the protection of Mahal’s hammer, your grace and the wizard’s.” He softened his tone further. “I realized that love was before me and I would have waited until the end, until the success of our journey, and had I waited, I could have gone to my father’s halls without seeking out a greater treasure than what lies in Erebor.” 

“When Gandalf said your ribs had broken away from your breastbone, when they lay jagged so close to your heart…” Bilbo gulped, and a tear escaped down his cheek. 

“Love, beloved,” Thorin said, brushing the tear away. “I saw you go pale, and yet you kept your head to jest. He made an appreciative growl. “I _had_ to ask for you. I had to try. I had to know.” 

Bilbo slanted him a look. “Which was why you tipped your chin so, while I was wrapping the bandages. Feeling me out, you awful sod. Did you truly think I would kiss you in front of Óin?” 

“No,” he grinned, wide and wolfish. “But you wanted to. Your eyes went dark and you flushed beautifully. It was not embarrassment.” 

“Awful sod.” Bilbo leaned forward into the circle of Thorin’s arms and rested his head against his chest, over his heart. Thorin flinched and tried to cover it with a sigh. 

“I’m an idiot,” Bilbo huffed, annoyed with himself. “And you are exhausted.” 

Thorin sighed, and Bilbo gave him a shrewd look. “Into bed with you.” 

Thorin put Bilbo’s hand on the tie of his breeches and raised his eyebrows. Bilbo rolled his eyes. 

“Kisses only,” Bilbo said firmly, unrolling the fabric to get at the tie. “We will rest, and then we will see.” 

Thorin’s eyebrows attempted to go higher. “And will you always be ordering me about in the bedroom?” 

“Only when you are being an awful sod and not taking care of yourself. I mean for being ‘beside you always’ to last longer than next week.”

Stroking down Bilbo’s arms, Thorin made an annoyed sound. “With such a reason I can’t complain,” he complained. 

“Just so,” Bilbo smiled, and untied the breeches. They were large enough to slip to the floor without any further encouragement. 

“Those are handy,” Bilbo murmured absently, as he gazed at Thorin. Thorin’s half-hard cock twitched with renewed interest and Bilbo wrapped a hand around him to move in a slow caress. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered. 

“That is not a kiss,” Thorin pointed out, voice rough. 

“Lie down to rest and there may be kisses here.” 

“Bilbo,” Thorin groaned, plaintive, rocking into his hand. The motion caused him to lose his balance a little, and he stumbled against the side of the bed. He groaned for another reason and cursed, holding his bruised side. 

“Oh, Thorin, I’m so sorry,” Bilbo cried, and moved to support him. “Oh, dear, I knew better, I really did, you awful, tempting thing. Come, into bed. 

Even as he was getting carefully into bed, Thorin plucked at Bilbo’s smallclothes and murmured, “Off, off.” Bilbo rolled his eyes and obeyed, then frowned as he looked at Thorin, arm stretched out across the sheets, beckoning for Bilbo to rest against his left side. His flank was bruised from rib to thigh, still more black than blue. 

“Beloved,” Bilbo said slowly, unconsciously wringing his hands. “You are so bruised. I just couldn’t. Tonight you will rest against _my_ heart.” 

Thorin’s breath caught, and Bilbo could see his blush high and fierce on his cheekbones, even in the dim light. His eyes were dark with some deep emotion. “Bilbo,” he said, voice low. 

Still frowning, Bilbo moved around the side of the bed, crawled in, and arranged himself around his beloved, carefully tucking Thorin against his side. Thorin clung unexpectedly, his head over Bilbo’s heart, then tipped his head up for a kiss, which despite recent pain and continued weariness, was full of passion and edging toward slightly wild. Bilbo pulled back. 

“Right, something just happened, something big, and it flew right past me, like your offer nearly did.” 

“You asked me to rest against your heart.” 

“Yes,” Bilbo drawled expectantly. 

Thorin stroked his chest. “Lying against your beloved’s heart. It means they have offered love and protection, as well as comfort. Trust and companionship. And that you have said you will lie beside me always….Bilbo.” Thorin pressed a slow kiss over his heart. Bilbo’s hand came up automatically to stroke his hair. 

“Did you just marry me?” he said after a long moment, softly incredulous. 

Thorin’s hands moved on him restlessly, stroking his chest, his side. “As near as possible, without us joining.” 

Bilbo gave his hair a gentle tug and trapped one hand over his heart. “Did I just marry _you_ as near as possible for the moment a few minutes ago?” 

Thorin stilled. 

Bilbo leaned back to look Thorin in the face. “Thorin. Beloved. Dearest one. I’ve heard of secret marriages, but _usually both parties are aware of the fact.”_

“Um.” 

Taking pity on him, Bilbo leaned in for a chaste kiss. “You have to tell me these things, Thorin. I’m not a dwarf. Your culture is famous for its’ secrecy. But _do let me know_ when we are married!” 

“I did not leave it out,” Thorin said, his eyes cast down. “I did not realize how…” He paused for a long moment. “It is like when you say my name. I did not realize how important it would be, how deeply it would move me.”

“Thorin, love.” Bilbo touched Thorin’s cheek, to ask him to raise his eyes, and he did, his expression full of tenderness. 

“To ask, to pledge, to agree to and rest beside one another, it was enough, enough to know how close we were to true joining. There are ceremonies for marriage, both common and royal, but the simplest is for two to recognize one another in love, to make those pledges and join together as spouses. It is legal, and it is a wedding to us. Sacred. But when you said you wanted me here…” 

Thorin put his hand over Bilbo’s heart. “I…” He pressed his face against Bilbo’s neck. “I swear I would have explained before we joined.” He cleared his throat. “I should have asked you if you wanted to make love in that way.” His voice dropped, pained. “That was a bit of an oversight.” 

Bilbo closed his eyes and laughed helplessly. “Of course I do. You will make me cry again, you romantic oaf.” 

Thorin made an amused sound. “You insult me when your heart reaches for mine.” 

Bilbo petted Thorin’s hair and kissed his head. “Majestic idiot. Awful sod.” His voice was thick with emotion.

“You used that one before.” 

“Fine. Beloved prick.” 

Thorin pressed the slightly-softened swell of his cock against Bilbo’s thigh. Bilbo groaned, struggling not to respond, though he truly, truly wanted to. 

“Kisses only, you tired, passionate fool.” Bilbo kissed his head again. “I can hear the weariness in your voice.” Thorin growled, breath hissing when he moved in away that hurt a bit. 

“Then kiss me.” 

“I will, and we will rest, promise me, I will love you as best we can devise when we wake, but please rest for me, dearest.” Bilbo nudged Thorin until his turned his face up. “Please.” 

“Since you say please,” Thorin answered, and smiled. “Twice, even. You show yourself as well, you know. I see you.” 

“I know, and I will show in full – body and heart - if you just _rest.”_ Bilbo kissed him. 

“Please do.” 

“I will. I will love you so.” 

“I believe it.” 

Bilbo kissed him slowly, slowly, slowly for long minutes until Thorin’s muscles eased, until his kisses grew clumsy, and his breath slowed. He drifted into sleep between one kiss and the next. Bilbo lay awake for a bit, willing away his own arousal, marveling at his good fortune and the great heart in his arms.


	3. I Will Cover You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, they've woken up. Wonder how everyone feels?
> 
> Mind the raised rating, darlings.

Feather-light touches brought Bilbo out of sleep, tracing random patterns on his skin. He first blinked aware as the pads of several fingers traced down his cheek, and a barely there touch of a thumb across his lower lip. Thorin continued his gentle exploration down Bilbo's neck, causing Bilbo to shiver and stretch when he found that place under Bilbo's ear that, earlier, had set his skin alight. Bilbo twisted slighly in Thorin's arms, tilting his neck up to give his lover more room with a throaty, approving noise. Thorin replied with his own growl, pressed his face to Bilbo's throat and simply breathed him in. Bilbo's hand came up of it's own accord to tangle in Thorin's thick hair.

"Well, hello," he said, voice still croaky with sleep.

"I did not mean to wake you." Thorin murmured, hand splayed, large and warm, over Bilbo's heart. He nuzzled Bilbo's throat, brushing his lips and beard over his skin in a caress that made Bilbo twist and stretch again, wanting more touch, wanting to be closer.

"Oh, well." Bilbo teased softly. "Back off to sleep for me then."

Thorin hummed deep and low against Bilbo's skin, which caused the hobbit's eyes to roll back in his head. "Sleep well," he murmured, just as sly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Grateful," was the instant reply. Bilbo melted.

"Thorin," he whispered, moved. Thorin hummed again, and Bilbo kissed his forehead, and then nudged at him until Thorin turned his face up for a kiss. Even after so short a time, there was a deep sense of belonging in being intimate with Thorin, a sense of wholeness and home that made Bilbo's heart swell with joy, and if he were quite honest with himself, relief. He never thought to have this. They kissed unhurriedly, almost as slow and sleepy as before.

"I think I know what you mean," Bilbo said as they parted. "I feel that way, too." He sighed, content, and combed his hand through Thorin's hair. "But tell me, how do your -"

"Bilbo," Thorin complained. He pushed himself up on one elbow and took Bilbo's mouth softly, nuzzling in contentedly, just as he'd nuzzled into Bilbo's neck. He stopped abruptly. "Do you wish to go back to sleep?" he said sheepishly.

Bilbo brushed Thorin's hair out of the way to frame his beloved face with his hands. "I would not hurt you further for the world, Thorin. I worry about that. As much as I want you..."

Thorin turned his head and kissed one of Bilbo's palms. "I admit to not being able to join with you tonight, as much as I wish to." He looked at Bilbo from beneath his brow. "But there are other delights we might devise that would not put pressure on still-tender places. I am," he pointed out. "Lying on my good side, have slept on my good side and am quite comfortable doing such things as this." He leaned in and gave Bilbo a lingering kiss, ending it by drawing Bilbo's lower lip through is teeth slowly. Bilbo shivered.

"You make a persuasive argument. How far can you turn toward me, support yourself with your arms - without pain? And will you be doing the stitches on your other shoulder an injury?"

Regarding him through half-lidded eyes, Thorin leaned in and brushed his nose against Bilbo's cheek, a slow, sensual caress that curled in Bilbo belly and called for more. Thorin bent close to his ear and said in that midnight voice of his, "You wish me to cover you. You want me pressed against you, moving above you."

Bilbo gasped, arching. "Yes."

"I should not rest my weight on this shoulder tonight, " Thorin whispered, regretfully, a breath from his lips. "But I wish to touch you, Bilbo, and I think you will be well pleased."

Bilbo laughed, a little wild, a little self-mocking, as he threaded his hand in Thorin's hair and brought their lips a touch closer. "I am on fire from a few touches, a few kisses and your words, dearest. I have no doubts."

Pulling back a bit, Thorin gave him a speculative look and stroked a large, wide hand down Bilbo's body from neck to belly, then cupped Bilbo's cock. "It seems you are," he murmured, pleased, and took Bilbo's mouth at the same time he took him in hand, stroking Bilbo with long, luxurious strokes. Bilbo moaned softly and arched his hips into the touch. After plundering Bilbo's mouth throughly, Thorin pulled back, brushing their lips lightly together, just barely keeping contact. He slid his leg over Bilbo's and tugged his body slightly closer.

"You wish me to cover you?" he said, low and rumbling with satisfaction as he tugged and pulled at Bilbo's cock, never quite fast enough, and just a shade too light. Bilbo whined and moved as restlessly as he could under Thorin's pinning leg.

"When we join," Thorin continued, slowly, slowly relentless. "I will cover you. Cover your mouth with kisses until you know no other taste but mine. Cover your body with kisses from crown to your charming, furry toes, until you recall no other mouth on you but mine. Cover your body with my hands, until you writhe against the bed for me, desperate for completion, until you cannot see, cannot hear, cannot imagine anything but the next touch. Is that what you wish?"

"Yes," Bilbo cried, trembling. Thorin rewarded him with several absolutely perfect strokes, his thumb caressing the head of Bilbo's cock, spreading around the wetness there. His thumb dipped lower, to that tiny web of flesh where the foreskin met the crown and rubbed the slick pad of it in tiny circle. Bilbo writhed, as Thorin had promised, pleasure almost too overwhelming and fierce building within him, and to his dismay, Thorin gentled his hand and leaned in, his breath hot against Bilbo's ear.

"After you writhe like this for me, I will prepare you slowly with oil, press against you until your body eases and opens, ready for me, until you're crying out that my fingers within you are no longer enough pleasure or crying out that what you need is me, body and heart pressed against yours, close as we can be."

"As close as can be," Bilbo panted. "That, love, please."

Thorin's voice was rough, breath ragged in his ear. "I will cover you only when you call for me, beloved. Only when you are ready. And then I will come to you as your husband, to cover you with my body and press into you until we are joined." His hand started slow, steady rhythm.

"I will move inside you thus, steady as a heartbeat. I will hold myself back to watch your pleasure."

"No," Bilbo growled. "I want all of you."

"In time," Thorin whispered against his mouth, between slick, hot kisses "In time. Only after you reach your peak from nothing but me inside you."

"Thorin!" Bilbo stretched and writhed and begged for more with his cries, with his body. Thorin obliged, speeding his hand, roughly tender caresses that were just...just...and Thorin leaned in to take his mouth again, Bilbo was sure, but instead Thorin pleated Bilbo's lower lip between his teeth and held it there. Once again, astonished pleasure took him and Bilbo keened, his hips suddenly seeking a frantic rhythm, which Thorin caught and with just the tiniest bit more pressure on Bilbo's lip and a deep groan, so deep Bilbo could feel it buzz against his skin, Thorin tipped Bilbo right over the edge into stinging, sparkling, screaming pleasure.

His peak seemed to last forever as Thorin gentled his hand to coax out as much pleasure as possible, and his mouth tenderly sought forgiveness for the earlier, intoxicatingly biting kiss. Bilbo shivered into a stretch as it ended, and tangled his hand in Thorin's hair, humming into the kiss. Thorin trembled against him, breath rough in his throat, and pressed his cock against Bilbo's thigh, a wordless plea.

"You held yourself back," Bilbo whispered, pressing tender kisses to his cheeks, his eyelids. Thorin nodded.

"I did not want to miss a moment," he murmured.

Bilbo pushed on his shoulders, urging Thorin to lie on his back. "You are magnificently silly," he said, voice full of affection. "Waiting for me. We do this together." He braced himself on one hand next to Thorin's head and leaned in to brush his lips against Thorin's in echo of his earlier caresses. "I nearly felt you inside me," he confessed. "Have you magic?"

Thorin smiled, both seductive and shy. "Just determination."

"Are you close?" Bilbo reached beneath the covers and took Thorin in hand. Thorin arched up and moaned.

"Yes, Bilbo, please."

"I planned to use my mouth on you," Bilbo murmured, but kept up his caresses on Thorin's cock. "And it seems as if two hands might be better if we do it thus...."

Thorin thrust faster into BIlbo's hand and groaned. "Next time," he panted, putting his hand atop Bilbo's and turning his head toward Bilbo for a kiss. "Harder."

Three more pulls and Thorin was trembling and moaning into Bilbo's mouth, his seed striping his belly and, if truth be told, some of his bandages.

"Oh dear," Bilbo said, as he kissed Thorin through his own after tremors. "We shan't tell Óin, shall we? Perhaps I can dab some of it off with water."

"We're naked and talking about another dwarf," Thorin complained, utterly relaxed and heading quickly into sleep.

"Is that a rule now?" Bilbo occupied himself by kissing Thorin's brow, his cheek, and his mouth when he wandered in range. "Is it talking about other naked dwarrow, or talking about other dwarrow while naked?"

"Other dwarrow. When we're being intimate. Is th'point, ghivashel," Thorin grumped, missing the timing of Bilbo's kiss, when Bilbo had already moved on to Thorin's throat. 

"Oh, I see, possessive one, when intimate, you want my every thought to be just you." 

.

"Exactly." He tried to stifle a yawn.

"Stay awake long enough for us to get cleaned up," Bilbo murmured against his mouth, then rose to pour some water in the washbasin, cleaned himself off, then came for Thorin with a wet cloth.

"Love you." Thorin said with drowsy earnestness. "Bilbo."

"I know," Bilbo said, joy clear on his face. He cupped Thorin's cheek and gave him a gentle kiss. "Affectionate, debauched silly."

"Insults are getting nicer," Thorin pointed out. "That hardly qualified."

"Perhaps my heart can't find more stinging words," BIlbo replied, climbing back into bed and holding out his arms. Thorin creaked carefully back into place.

"You _are_ sore, you you you...."

"Limping oaf?"

"That will work."

"Can't think up insults anymore," Thorin gloated, just slightly.

"Well, you completely discombobulated me. That was inspired. I think I should be allowed to recover."

"Mmm."

"My heart is too full to insult you, you clot," Bilbo muttered.

"There. That's better." Thorin smoothed an arm across Bilbo's middle to latch onto his waist, and tangled their legs together.

Bilbo snorted, buried his nose in Thorin's hair, and they drifted together into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, heck, I thought I only had one chapter left in me. Looks like there's one more!
> 
> And hey, are y'all still out there? Is this working for y 'all, 'cause there's not much they can do with Thorin still so hurt. ::worries::


	4. Great Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lazy morning after
> 
> Whoops, first version of this chapter had Thorin saying something to BIlbo that ANOTHER one of my Thorins says to ANOTHER Bilbo in my Pearl of the Evening AU, also set at Beorn's. I sought to fix it, since it is part of my headcanon, but just hadn't put it in this fic. Hope it works. Y'all let me know if it seems off.

It was Bilbo who woke first the next morning, still entwined with his beloved, Thorin's head resting on his shoulder, hand over his heart. Bilbo's arm was half-numb, his parts of his body were making certain demands, but he couldn't seem to drum up the will to care, as he gently gathered the sleep-tangled strands of hair from Thorin's face, unable to keep from petting it in this position, reveling in its softness and, truth be told, the entire wonder of the past day. He snugged Thorin a bit closer (not there was much room between them) and...basked, he supposed was the best word for it, in the thin morning light, in this moment. Never thought to have this. Ever. 

Thorin stretched a bit, tilted his face and pressed it to Bilbo's neck, sighed a long, contented sigh, then tucked his nose closer, breathed Bilbo in, and sighed again. Bilbo stroked down his head to his shoulder and arm, far as he could reach, cuddling him close, heart-full, because really. What a simple, lovely thing. He pressed a kiss to Thorin's hair. 

"You are thinking." Thorin's voice was scratchy with sleep. "Shhh." 

"Are we sleeping?" 

"No?" 

BIlbo snorted. 

Thorin pressed a kiss to the underside of Bilbo's chin. "What are your thoughts this morning, ghivashel?" 

"I was thinking of your gorgeous words last night, and how I'd wed and join with you if we were in the Shire." 

"Oh?" Thorin rubbed slightly against Bilbo's thigh and pressed another kiss to his throat. "Mmmm." 

"Your interest is noted, oh lascivious darling," Bilbo chuckled softly. 

Thorin made a pleased growl and tightened his arm around Bilbo's waist. "Your insults still lack the proper sting." 

Bilbo kissed Thorin's hair. "A pity, yes?" 

"I will treasure the love words you give me, even the ones with seeming teeth," Thorin murmured.

"Dearest one," Bilbo whispered, and nudged at Thorin for a kiss, sleep sour mouth bedamned. "You undo me with your words so easily." 

Thorin looked at him, eyes smiling. "And you wish to do the same." 

"Oh, I mean to try." He turned on his side and nuzzled into Thorin's mouth to kiss him for a few peaceful moments. "How is your comfort this morning?"

His answer was Thorin stretching in his arms and snuggling in as close as possible with a satisfied purr. He rubbed his nose against Bilbo's and when Bilbo stroked his cheek, yearned into his hand with a small smile. 

"Why did no one tell me you were a great cat?" Bilbo mused, stroking whatever bits of warm skin he could reach. Thorin hummed and opened his eyes lazily. 

"Because I am their king and proficient with several different weapons." 

"That would do it." 

Nudging closer to Thorin's mouth, he brushed their lips together softly, then darted back when Thorin tried for more. "I would love you this morning, near-husband, but you must tell me how I may do so without hurting you?" 

Sighing, Thorin did his great cat stretch, but also pulling Bilbo closer to rub against him from chest to belly. He trembled through the slow side and gave BIlbo a half-lidded glance. 

Bilbo fought not to throw his head back and moan, to grip Thorin's arm (bruised and with a stitched cut on the shoulder) and arse (half of it bruised as well) and continue the slow, sensual rut. 

"This is a time to use your words, oh great cat. Will this please you without hurting? Or is there something that would please you more? Could I possibly rest my weight on you?" 

Thorin's hips stuttered as he groaned, leaning forward for a wild kiss. "You wish to cover me? To join with me?" He breathed. He trembled again and surged forward for BIlbo's mouth, only to find himself caught between two small, strong hands. He blinked. 

"Matters of great import, rushing right by," Bilbo prompted with a kind frown. Thorin, shivering again, put a bit of distance between them, kissing one of Bilbo's palms before he drew away. 

"You nearly undo me before we begin," he explained in a rough voice. 

"That's...incredibly flattering. How?" 

Thorin took a great breath and blew it out. "Another layer of marriage. For you to claim me as well in that way...for us to be equals in love, both giving and receiving." He took another great breath. "I have never done...." 

Instantly, Bilbo's hand went out to Thorin's shoulder. "You need not, if you...trust me, I am perfectly happy to..." 

"I _want_ to. Bilbo. I am a king. I was a prince. There were matters of status. I was only giving my body to other lovers, not my heart, as were they, but there were times I envied their surrender to the act. When you offered to hear me, yesterday, should I need to talk. Do you know how long it has been since I had an equal to speak with? To be myself, and not myself with the shadow of a crown, a mountain, the failures of my family behind me?" 

Bilbo shook his head. 

"I don't know either." He covered Bilbo's hand with his own, and pulled it away to press kiss after kiss on it. "For you to offer that, and offer this." He chuffed out a small laugh. "And you think I do not hear your heart calling to mine. I would not have heard you, as I stepped into the Shire, not felt the longing if you were not the other half of my soul, if you were not the one who could allow me to lay down my crown and be simply myself in your arms." He pressed Bilbo's hand to his heart and looked over at him, eyes shining with joy. "I stopped my ears with anger for far too long, but I hear your heart, Bilbo Baggins, clear as a silver bell." 

"Am I the great cat now, with a silver bell around my neck?" He whispered, his throat half-closed with emotion. A tear rolled down his cheek, another about to fall. 

"No, despite your fluffy feet, I prefer being the great cat; there's more petting involved," Thorin whispered back, releasing Bilbo's hand to gather up a corner of the sheet and dry his tears. 

"You must tell me these matters of great import," Bilbo said with a watery laugh. "I have had good luck so far, but one day..." 

Thorin grimaced. "You are an unexpected thing in my life, ghivashel. The One I never looked for. I can't anticipate you, always." 

"But you will try. If it's some big cultural thing that everyone knows, particularly."

"I will try.

"Would you like to start by explaining the longing you referred to and two halves of one soul?"

Thorin cleared his throat tentatively. "I neglected to mention that, before?" He pressed one hand to his face. "Durin's beard."

"You might have. Perhaps it was another Bilbo Baggins you are almost married to?"

"There is no other that I want, should you have a duplicate running about." Thorin eyed him. "Do you?"

"No, and well played. So."

"We believe that when Mahal made us, when he made the seven dwarrow fathers, he made their spouses as well, each possessing part of the same soul, that they might find perfect companionship with one another."

"Well, that's lovely." His face softened. "And you think I am that, for you?"

"I know you are." Thorin said simply. "We feel a pull, here." Thorin touched his heart. "When we are close to our One. The longing. I felt it the instant I rode into the Shire."

"But, you....got lost on the way to Bag End. Twice."

Thorin rolled to his back and put a hand over his eyes. "Yes," he said, deeply embarrassed and guilty.

Bilbo pressed a hand against his mouth. "You were, possibly trying to....dodge it?"

"Yes." Even more embarrassed.. Bilbo choked down a snicker and Thorin shot him an astonished look.

"Just to be clear, your race feels a pull, hooked into their heart like some sort of signal, when they are near the other half of their soul, the person they're meant to be with."

"Yes." Thorin was scowling a bit now at Bilbo's smile.

"And you felt it for the first time when you set foot in the Shire."

"Yes."

"And then proceeded to wander all around Hobbiton, trying to outrun it, somehow." He choked briefly, imagining it, but got it under control quickly.

"It-it wasn't like that."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows. "Oh? And got lost twice. Riding past a big green door with a glowing rune on it, missing a sign by a lane clearly marked 'Bag End.' With a signal fire in your chest."

Thorin covered his face with both hands this time. "It was a dark night."

"And then you gave me this smoldering glance and _then_ were quite rude, _very_ rude and dismissive, and insulting, but I followed you anyway, this little pull on your heart, and I _kept_ following you until I saved your malodorous, trollish, pony-losing, swine herding _life._ "

"Swine herding?"

"That's the part you respond to?" Bilbo's snickers finely broke free, and he wiggled closer to tug at the hands covering Thorin's face. "Swine herding?"

"This conversation has taken a very strange turn, " Thorin said plaintively, once Bilbo uncovered him. "Also, I just had a bath!"

"Oh sweet Yavanna," Bilbo wheezed, found a relatively unbruised place on Thorin's shoulder, lay his head down and snorted helplessly. "Oh, you poor darling." He pressed clumsy kisses on Thorin's skin. "I feel completely avenged for every annoying thing I ever did or said to you now. Because that is the most wonderfully boneheaded thing I have ever heard in my life. Apparently I'm your destined love, and you try to outrun me, and I, all unaware, not only run after you, but _catch you."_ Oh," he sighed, wiping his eyes. "Mother would be so proud. She chased father for years, until he broke down and admitted he loved her. Thought he was too old and placid for the likes of wild Belladonna Took." He sighed, content. "Granted, I stifled my feelings just as much as you did for quite a long time. Because you were a _perfect horse's arse_."

"Oh look," Thorin said, resigned, to the ceiling. "You're able to insult me again."

"Yes, yes I am," he said, still smiling, and wormed his way under Thorin's good arm and very, very carefully put one hand on either side of him, clear of any bruises, to look into his eyes. "Because you're beautifully imperfect, and I love you."

Thorin's face cleared in a heartbeat into a smile. He wrapped his arm around Bilbo's waist. "Now? You tell me now, after I admit to..."

"Yes," Bilbo said simply, pressing kiss after kiss to his face. "I do like that you thought about it, and that I was able to find my feet and show my worth rather than being...well. You did choose me, in the end, just like I chose you. But, you could not have convinced me better of the two halves of a soul idea if you had piled a dozen scholars on my head. I feel so very much less _touched_ in said head for the burning need to follow you, for -literally - a song, and for, when you were hurt, the need to keep you in sight, though I am now concerned with you in that you thought you could outrun a hobbit."

A reluctant laugh twitched at the corner of Thorin's mouth. "I did not realize you were such fine runners."

"No, but we are very sneaky." He leaned down for a lingering kiss. "I do love you," he murmured.

"I know," Thorin replied, his expression tender. "I have felt it. And I you."

"Now," Bilbo said. "You were about to tell me where it's too sore for me to hold you, or press against." Thorin sighed a small anticipatory sigh, and then his stomach gurgled loudly. 

"Perhaps after breakfast?" 

Thorin sighed again, this time annoyed. "We could..." 

Bilbo kissed his nose. "We should. And perhaps moving about will help loosen your muscles." 

Thorin shot him a considering look. "Perhaps you are right. But we may be waylaid by the company, and I have nothing but Dwalin's breeches to wear." 

"Then I shall have to burgle some breakfast and perhaps find your clothes." He leaned forward, originally for a short, smacking kiss, but Thorin threaded his fingers in Bilbo's hair and sighed that lovely anticipatory sigh, and it took a moment to remember he had an errand. But Thorin's stomach grumbled again, and Bilbo tore himself away. 

"Breakfast. Clothing. Planning." He hopped out of bed. Thorin turned carefully to watch him retrieve his clothes. Bilbo noticed him watching and blushed. 

"Planning?" Thorin stretched against the bed as Bilbo shrugged on his waistcoat.

"Oh yes, great cat," Bilbo said, padding forward for a kiss. He snuck a hand under the covers and wrapped his hand around Thorin's cock for a few delicious moments. It leapt to his touch. "I have plans for you." 

Arching under his hand, Thorin groaned, "Come back to bed." 

Bilbo swallowed hard, cupped his hand over Thorin's cock comfortingly, and pressed their foreheads together. "You are so tempting. You have no idea. But I would not trouble a starving dwarf." 

"I would not be hungry if..." Bilbo put a gentle finger over his lips. Thorin caught his seriousness and quelled the urge to take Bilbo's finger into his mouth. 

"We cannot live on love alone. Eat and get strong so that you can make me yours, and I can make you mine, beloved. I would be your husband in full before we leave here." 

"That is an excellent plan." They kissed, sealing the bargain. 

"Then I will be right back. Stoke up the fire, if you can? Or should I?" 

"My right arm is fine. Is this part of your plans?" 

"To keep you as naked and as comfortable as possible? Most certainly." And with a cheeky grin, he was out the door.


	5. Breakfast and Flower Beds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More lazy morning, and Bilbo has his chance at weaving a web of words around them.
> 
>  **Trigger Alert** There is very, very, very light D/s in this chapter, as Thorin struggles to surrender to Bilbo, something he really wants but doesn't come naturally to him. It never something he's allowed himself. Just thought I'd mention. I don't think it should be triggery in any way, but hopefully seen in the loving and tender manner I intend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary: 
> 
> _Southron lord_ : The Southrons or Haradim were the fellows on Mûmakil (Those huge mammoth things) at the Battle of Pellenor Fields. I have head canon that they have beautiful tents and palaces back home where there is lots of minimal clothing with abundant jewelry and feeding one another figs and such. Thorin would look amazing in silks and jewels don't you think? Our dwarf odalisque. Mmm. 
> 
> _Halimath_ : September, by the Shire Reckoning. Bilbo's birthday is September 22, and Durin's Day is in October.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~~

Bilbo slipped on his ring to get the lay of the land without being disturbed. Padding as quietly as possible down the stairs, he noticed Óin, Gloin, Balin and Gandalf by the fire, chatting quietly, apparently enjoying some hot drinks before breakfast was served. Bilbo snuck down the hall to the bathing room, freshened up a bit (giving his poor waistcoat a despairing glance), and ring off, ventured to the kitchen. 

Once there, he stood agog at the bustle of, sure enough, animals without thumbs preparing breakfast, some on hind legs, some on all fours, depending on their task. A quiet whuff at his side and Bilbo found himself looking into the kind brown eyes of a friendly-looking dog. 

"Ah, well, yes. Good morning! I was wondering if I might get a tray to take to Thorin for breakfast, and some for myself as well, to keep him company. He's awfully bruised up, and, well, all of his clothes were taken to be cleaned last night and he has nothing to wear." 

The dog's eyebrows twitched and his mouth opened in a laughing pant. 

"Yes, well, he's a king and all, and not used to prancing about in his underthings. Wouldn't be regal, you know." 

Eyebrows twitching further, the dog leaned forward slightly and gave Bilbo's crotch area a sniff - keeping polite distance, mind you, but clearly calling him out on not telling the complete truth - and then grinned at him again. Bilbo flushed to his toes. 

"Well, yes, there's that, too, and we'd like a bit of privacy, if that's all right?" he murmured. "And not too much trouble. And we will be needing his clothes later. Even just his shirt and pants would be fine." 

Tail wagging, the dog gave him a cheerful little whuff and barked a few commands to his fellow workers. A sheep ventured forward, and tossing its' head, motioned for Bilbo to follow. He glanced back at the dog, who wagged his tail again and gave him a reassuring bark. Sweet Yavanna, he was beginning to understand them. 

The sheep led him to a drying room right next to the bathing room, and showed him the racks of drying clothes. It was quite a fine set up, with fireplaces at both ends of the room to keep it warm and hasten drying. And there were materials for dying his sheep's wool, he supposed, looking around the tidy shelves. Beorn was quite the fastidious fellow, it seemed, for one with such rough manners, or he entertained far more travelers that Gandalf knew. 

He quickly found Thorin's deep blue shirt and black trousers,the trousers unwrinkled, but the linen shirt most definitely needing to be pressed, and with a few tears and holes from Thorin's ordeal that needed patching. He thought he might have some thread that matched, or close enough. The velvet coat still had a few damp patches, not surprising with the thick fabric and Bilbo left the mail strictly alone. He also located what had to be his small clothes (he hoped) monogramed with a tiny crest of Durin on the leg. They were not of a size to fit either Kili or Fili. Bilbo hoped for the best and folded them up quickly into a neat package. He looked around the room for an iron, and spotting it, resolved to come back and press it after mending. 

Bilbo bowed to the sheep, who was waiting patiently. "I'm just going to dart upstairs and take these, then be back for the tray." 

"Baa!" the sheep said, and blinked its' eyes kindly. 

He forgot his ring on the way back, drat it. 

"Good morning, Bilbo!" Gandalf called cheerfully. "I didn't see you come down!" 

"Ah, good morning, laddie," Óin bellowed, his smile entirely too sly. "Did you rest well? Did you get my patient into bed easily?" 

Bilbo blushed again and stammered, "Why yes, yes we, I slept well...and Thorin did, too, thank you. I offered to bring him breakfast and find his clothes for him, some of which are dry enough to wear." He waved his armful of clothes feebly. 

Balin's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. Gloin's smile was extremely similar to his brother's and Gandalf was twinkling. Bilbo had the stray thought that he'd not freshened up _enough_ for non-dog noses to know what he'd been up to from half a room a way, or if he bore some sign of the night's activities and valiantly restrained himself from sniffing. He hadn't _seen_ any love bites. He put a bit of starch in his spine and walked closer to the fire. 

"Thorin and I are courting, and, by your people's standards, Óin, Gloin, and Balin. Actually, we are, if I understand correctly, already betrothed. While I don't particularly need anyone's approval, I do hope I have your good will." 

He was met with several happy cries and Gloin fairly pounded him on the back hard enough for him to stumble a bit. 

"Finally," Balin breathed a heavy sigh. "The tension between the two of you was making the lot of us bilious." 

Bilbo could only blink several times. Not what he was expecting. "Bilious." 

"Good on you, laddie. Couldn't help but hear you two flirting right under my nose last night." 

"You," Bilbo wagged his finger at the healer. "Mean _see_ don't you?" 

Óin harrumphed and winked at him. 

"Bilbo," Gandalf said warmly. "I am so very happy for both of you. I think you balance each other quite well." 

"Yes, well. Thank you, all. I best be getting these upstairs and come back for the tray."

"I'll get it and meet you halfway, lad," Óin said. "Need to stretch my legs." 

"Thank you, that's very kind." 

Once up at Thorin's room, he knocked briefly and said, "It's me, Thorin," and let himself in. Thorin was dozing, sheets pooled about his waist, hair spread across the pillows. Bilbo swallowed hard, his mouth going dry, and a warm feeling spreading through him. Thoughts like "mine," and "beautiful," and "husband," flitting through his head. Thorin's eyes opened and he held out his hand. 

"Oh no," Bilbo said softly. "I'm not getting in range of that much temptation, not 'til I fetch our breakfast." Thorin just looked at him, his eyes smoky with humor and desire. 

"Oh no," Bilbo said again, weakening, and wagged his finger. "Oh no no no no no." Thorin's eyebrow quirked. He folded his hand demurely over his chest, which should not have relieved and disappointed Bilbo in equal measure. 

"Be right back," he said, voice husky, and darted out. 

Óin was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and Bilbo apologized for keeping him. 

"Wanted to have a quiet word," Óin said, voice low. 

Bilbo decided not to be embarrassed. One should be candid with the company healer, and, between the two of them, he was pretty sure that one was going to have to be him. "We did nothing that harmed him last night, I assure you. He didn't bear weight on his bad arm or side. And I made sure he slept." 

"You anticipate me, and I thank you for your candor, lad. And I'll tell him this when I look after his cuts today, but no joining until my say so, mind? I hate to keep you from it, but dwarrow are a passionate lot, and, frankly, I can't trust him to have a care for himself, sometimes." 

Bilbo snorted out a laugh, and was blushing now, regardless of his pledge to be candid. "Thorin? Push himself? Why the thought." They shared a commiserating smile. "But seriously, Óin, I wouldn't hurt him for the world. In any sense." 

"Good lad," Óin clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm happy for you, Mr. Baggins." 

Bilbo looked at him, and Óin patted him on the shoulder. 

"Going to be a consort, lad. Should be more formal.

"No, Bilbo, please," he smiled. "If we're talking about my marital relations and are companions and friends, do call me Bilbo, please. Also? I notice we've been discussing all this in near whispers." 

"It's easier one on one," Óin sniffed. 

"Mmmhmm. Thank you, Healer Óin." 

"Just Óin, mind. Go on before your breakfast goes stone cold. Too bad there are no sausages." 

"Thank you, again." 

Gloin just waved him off with a smile. 

There were no sausages, but there were warm, fresh scones, oatmeal, summer berries, a huge bowl of clotted cream and a small pot of honey, butter and nuts and boiled eggs and two mugs of steaming tea. Bilbo inhaled all the delicious smells with anticipation. He pushed on the door, which he'd left just unlatched (not that he had thought ahead about Thorin putting on pants to get up to open the door, no, he'd not planned to prevent anything like that) and was met with a warm smile from the bed. 

"There you are." 

"I've been on a small adventure," Bilbo confessed, bringing the tray to the bed, and when Thorin reached for it, clucked at him until he relented (with ill grace). "I've held a conversation with a dog - who immediately twigged to us being intimate and laughed at me for using the excuse of your clothes being wet to bring you a tray. Then a sheep took me to the laundry, I saw Gloin, Óin, Balin and Gandalf, and was so unsubtly teased about helping you up to bed that I went ahead and told them we were betrothed. I do hope that's all right." He gave Thorin a sheepish look as he shucked out of his waistcoat and made to climb back into bed. 

Thorin, swallowing a bite of cream-slathered scone, frowned. "I believe we had plans for later? Might as well get naked now." 

Bilbo snorted and rolled his eyes. "How practical. Isn't there something about waiting a half hour before...." 

"That's swimming." 

"Ah. Not much for swimming, hobbits." He made quick work of his clothes. "So, it's all right I told?" 

"Bilbo," Thorin leaned carefully to greet him with a kiss as he crawled back into bed. "You are my equal in this. Besides, they'll know when I come down wearing your braid, and you mine." He cast a look at Bilbo's shaggy, but still relatively short hair, and frowned again. 

"What is it?" Bilbo asked, helping himself to some porridge and heaping it with butter, cream, honey, nuts and berries. 

"I can get a braid in there," Thorin said, pointing his chin at Bilbo's curly mop. "But it might not show up as much as I'd like. Not until you grow it longer?" 

Bilbo thought about that as he had a few bites of porridge. It was incredible. "It's important that it show?" 

"To me it is," Thorin murmured into his tea mug, suddenly a bit bashful. "I would have you seen as mine." 

"I will grow it longer, then." Bilbo smiled and offered Thorin a raspberry. Thorin met his eyes and took it from him, his lips and tongue caressing Bilbo's fingers. A pleasant low-kindling heat began in Bilbo's belly, and he offered a blackberry. Thorin sucked gently on his fingers this time, his gaze lazy and hot. 

"You are temptation itself," Bilbo murmured. 

"But I am yours, what is the fault in giving in?" Thorin asked in a soft, dark voice. 

"That we might starve?" Bilbo took Thorin's scone from his hand and broke off a bite to feed him, unable to keep his eyes from watching the motion of Thorin's lips and tongue as he drew Bilbo's finger inside his mouth. 

" _I_ am being fed." 

"Hmmm." Bilbo stole a bite of scone, and handed it back. "Eat, my love," he said with a bit of resignation.

"I _was_ eating." 

"I do plan on giving into temptation," Bilbo assured him. "But after we've had breakfast." He leaned up for a kiss, and Thorin met him with a hand to his cheek, and Bilbo found himself unable to stop at just one small kiss, but traded several slow, sweet kisses with Thorin until at last he drew away, but kept his hand on Bilbo's face. 

"Come close, then, until we finish, I would feel your warmth next to me." 

"Well, if you're cold." 

The crinkles beside Thorin's eyes deepened. "I'm not cold." 

It was Bilbo's turn at bashful. "Oh," he said, grinning helplessly, and scooted over until they were side by side. Thorin draped his arm around Bilbo's waist and kissed the top of his head. 

"How are you going to eat porridge one-handed?" Bilbo asked. "And with the hand on your bad arm, at that?" 

"Carefully?"

Bilbo took a quick peek behind him to check for where he was aiming to put his head for bruises, and leaned back against Thorin's shoulder. He was rewarded by another kiss on his head. 

"Better not be getting clotted cream in my hair." 

Thorin buried his face in Bilbo's curls and playfully scrubbed his face back and forth, then nuzzed down the side of Bilbo's head to find the point of his ear, which he bit gently. Bilbo jumped as if shocked, and made the most completely undignified noise. He dropped his spoon, which luckily landed, clattering, into his bowl. 

"Too hard?" Thorin murmured, and gave his ear an apologetic kiss with plenty of slowly soothing tongue. Though it was actually not so soothing, despite Bilbo melting into Thorin's side. 

"Hnngh," Bilbo replied, then made an effort to speak. He also smacked Thorin's thigh lightly, which turned into a white-knuckled grip as Thorin mouthed at his ear a bit more. "Eat," he begged. 

"I've found something quite delicious." 

"Sweet Yavanna," Bilbo moaned, tilting his head for Thorin to get better access. "Dearest, don't tease." 

"You are quite delicious, and it's not teasing, it's a promise, _âzyungâl"_ " 

"Hmmm. What does that one mean?" 

"Lover," and oh, Eru, the midnight voice was back. 

"The rest of the scones will keep," Bilbo gasped. "Eat the porridge. Eat. Get strong. Wed in full, remember? _Please._ " 

"Done." With a last toe-curling caress to his ear, Thorin drew away to fix his oatmeal to his liking and fell to it with a will. Bilbo blinked a few times, a little lightheaded, and took another scone. Thorin gave him a fond sidelong glance. "You seem to like tending to me, if a might pert about it." 

Bilbo brushed the fall of Thorin's hair over one shoulder, then kissed his bare skin. "Why would I not?" he asked in a soft voice. "You are a treasure, too, and mine. I take good care of what, and especially who, I love." 

Thorin's directed a small smile to his bowl. There was a faint flush on his cheeks, but the rim of his ear glowed bright red. 

"Your ears blush," Bilbo said, grinning with delight. He reached out to trace a finger around the shell of Thorin's ear, but his hand was caught fast. Thorin pressed a kiss to his knuckles. 

"Eat, get strong, wed in full, remember?" 

"I'm not the one injured." 

"Touch my ears with a bed full of crockery and that will change." 

Well, _that_ was interesting. "Sensitive?" 

"Not as much as yours, I think, but I seem to remember so." 

"Seem?"

Thorin's eyes were firmly fixed on his meal. "It's been some decades since I had a lover." 

_"Decades?"_

Thorin shrugged. "When it ceased to become a comfort and escape and just added despair....I had my own hand, my own .....thoughts." 

"I understand. I've not had one since coming of age. I had my play as a tween, but just never quite found the right person. Then there were the lasses and lads that were trying to court my money and not me. I was most certainly not going to bother with that, so it's been a few decades for me, too. Two, in fact. Hadn't thought of it that way." 

Thorin flashed him a grin. "We seem to do all right." 

Bilbo leaned against him companionably. "With only three and a half working arms between us, and a massive amount of bruising on your part, that we do." 

Thorin drank the rest of his tea in one long (awfully neat for a dwarf) gulp, wiped his mouth ostentatiously, and gave Bilbo a significant glance. Snorting, Bilbo popped the rest of his scone into his mouth and hopped out of bed to take the tray. On impulse, he brought the bowl of berries back with him. Thorin raised his eyebrows in question, but Bilbo simply handed him the bowl, then went around to his side of the bed and crawled in. Once there, he sat close once more, and took the bowl back. He offered Thorin a raspberry, and as before, he took it into his mouth in a most sensual caress and gazed at Bilbo with half-lidded eyes. 

"You have no idea what you looked like, sprawled in the bed, hair fanned out on the pillows. Even as battered and bruised as you are, ridiculously beautiful." 

Thorin swallowed the latest berry, eyebrows raised dubiously. "Beautiful?" 

"Handsome just doesn't cut it, dearest, truly. What I wouldn't give to keep you here like this, temptation itself in my bed." 

"I thought it was my bed." 

Bilbo huffed, exasperated. "Will you allow me some poetic license, please? And some room to work? You're all delicious honeyed words and touches when you lead, but I get the tart side of your tongue when I try." 

Abashed, Thorin leaned carefully to deliver an apologetic kiss. "I'm not used to being complimented so." 

Bilbo cupped his cheek. "You're going to have to bear up, dearest." 

Thorin closed his eyes and leaned his face into Bilbo's hand. "Nor am I used to being passive in bed." 

"Not used to being fussed over like a Southron lordling? Trust me, the way you look at me, the way you respond? The least passive passivity I've seen." Bilbo paused. "Are you uncomfortable?" 

Thorin opened his eyes. "I want this." 

"Not what I asked, dearest." 

"I want this," Thorin whispered fiercely, and kissed the palm of Bilbo's hand. "I want this with you."

"Ingrained patterns are hard to break, even after years, I suppose." 

"Fifty." 

"Fifty years since...?" 

A nod, eyes downcast. Thorin kissed Bilbo's palm again. 

"Thorin, _I'm_ fifty. I'll be fifty one this year." 

Thorin opened his eyes and they looked at one another a long moment. 

"Do you think..." he said, voice hesitant. 

"I don't know, dwarrow are the ones with, well, Ones. You'd know more about how it works than I." 

"I'm choosing to believe," Thorin said slowly. "That when you entered the world, there would be no other lover with any savor until I found you." 

It took Bilbo a moment to catch his breath. "Thorin, my dear romantic. The twenty-second of Halimath, by the way." 

Bilbo was met by a wondering grin. "I had my last lover on Durin's day, not two weeks later, and felt so wretched after...." 

"So you think..." 

"I like to think it, my One. That we both kept ourselves apart from others that this meeting would be more joyous." 

Bilbo leaned to whisper in his ear. "And more joyous once you stopped running." Thorin groaned and slumped into the pillows. 

"Will you be forgetting that anytime soon?" 

Grinning, Bilbo kissed him. "Not for a bit. In my mind's eye, I see you running - having abandoned the pony at some point - running through Hobbiton as if Farmer Maggot's dogs were After you. It's quite the picture. Coat flapping, hair streaming." He mimed it, eyes wide, mouth open in a soundless scream. 

Thorin curled to hide his face in Bilbo's neck, shaking with repressed laughter. "You are an awful, awful sod. Whatever that means." 

"An awful fellow, an obnoxious person. Also it means a section of thickly-grassed ground, so not only are you obnoxious, you're _dirty_." 

"I thought hobbits _liked_ plants." 

"Not if it stalks in my front entry in metal-capped boots and calls me a grocer." 

"I was fighting fate, and great disappointment from the Iron Hills. I wasn't at my best." Thorin grumbled. 

"Midnight-voiced, sophisticated, majestic sod insulting me the moment he saw me." 

Thorin sighed. "You caught me, though." 

"And I'm not letting you get away." Bilbo put the berry bowl as far away as he could reach without dislodging Thorin, then curled him close, and ran his fingers through his hair. After a moment, he slid down the pillows a bit until their faces were on a level, and said, "I think it's best if you hold me tight, dearest, so I don't hit a bruise." 

Tugging Bilbo until they were pressed together from breast to belly, Thorin smiled and angled his face for a kiss. Bilbo wrapped his arm carefully around his shoulders and leaned in for long, unhurried moments of deep, slow kissing that lit an equally deep, slow fire in Bilbo's belly. At some point, slow and sweet tipped to silky slow and slick, and Bilbo's hips pressed forward of their own accord, tiny little rocking pulses. Thorin moaned, deep and low, and rocked back, clearly holding his strength in check until he broke off with a little hiss. Bilbo leaned back to look into his face. 

"Hurt?" 

Thorin, eyes still closed, nodded, frustrated. Bilbo kissed his eyelids, his nose, his mouth. "Hold me tight, and let me do most of the work, yes? No, wait, let's try something. On your back, now." Bilbo scooted back for Thorin to turn carefully. "All right?" Thorin covered his eyes with his hand. 

"I hate this," he said. "In bed with the one I love and I..." 

"Shhhhh," Bilbo said soothingly. "I wish to touch you, Thorin, and I think you will be well pleased." 

He got a smile in return for echoing Thorin's words of the night before, and held out his arm for Bilbo to curl at his side. Bilbo ran a light hand down his chest, pausing to tweak one nipple as best he could under the bandage, and when he got a small gasp, and Bilbo wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not, asked softly, "Good or bad?" 

"Mmmmm, good. Just. I've not been tended to thus," he whispered, sighing and kissing Bilbo's neck. "I pinch harder." 

Bilbo had to kiss him for such an admission, such a lonely thing, pinching harder, and Thorin's breath came out in a harsh pant. He seemed to uncoil, tension draining out of him as he stretched and twisted slowly (carefully) under Bilbo's hands. Bilbo wormed his hand under the bandage very carefully and went for a second long, slow pinch, and this time Thorin moaned and arched into the touch. Bilbo kept up the pressure in short pulses and leaned up to suck Thorin's earlobe into his mouth as Thorin trembled, threading his fingers in Bilbo's hair to encourage him to stay right where he was. Bilbo laughed and renewed his efforts until a high needy whine forced its' way out of Thorin's throat.

"Mmmm," Bilbo sighed, changing to light scratching over Thorin's nipple, and lowered his mouth to press it to Thorin's throat, where his jaw met his neck. He got a frustrated, aroused sigh out of that, so bit lightly, then a bit harder, and Thorin just _melted._ Bilbo had to stop and take a quick, bracing breath at that, to feel this strong body melt under his touch, to know his difficulty in letting another lead, and yet here he was, surrendering. It was humbling. 

"I love you," he whispered in Thorin's ear. "You majestic idiot." 

"And I you," Thorin answered, breath rough in his throat, turning for a kiss. "And you've used that one before." 

"Terribly sorry, bit distracted," Bilbo replied, sinking into the kiss for a few heady moments. It may have been twenty years since his last lover, but Bilbo knew that a thin, stern mouth like Thorin's was not supposed to be this lush to kiss, oh, but it was, and terribly tempting, like the rest of him, but Bilbo had plans. He pulled back slightly.

I was thinking this morning," he murmured against Thorin's mouth. "What it would be like if I wed you back in the Shire, what I would do if we joined there." 

"Mmm," Thorin, replied and turned slightly to cup Bilbo's cheek. "Great loads of food I suppose?" 

Bilbo snorted and shook his head. "Of course, silly, but that's not really the part I was thinking of. I was thinking more of bringing you home." 

"To Bag End." 

Bilbo propped himself up on his elbow to stroke a hand down his chest, to his stomach, where he stayed, stroking the line of hair that descended beneath the covers . "That's right, to Bag End, and to the back garden." 

"Garden?" Thorin's voice was slightly strained, and he yearned up into Bilbo's hand, not quite an arch, but still an invitation to move lower. His arousal was not at all hidden by the sheet pooled in his lap.

"You should know," Bilbo said, his hand stroking across Thorin's muscled belly, slowly, below the bandages but not quite where Thorin wanted it. "I plan on taking my sweet time with you." 

Thorin arched on a sharp cry, shuddering from head to foot. Bilbo leaned in and took his mouth, and had to move to brace himself on his elbows beside Thorin's head, because Thorin had broken wild, cradling the back of Bilbo's head to hold him in place, trying to take control of the kiss, to turn Bilbo on his back, to do something that might very well tear stitches, Bilbo could _feel_ the potential of it in the coiled strength of the arms holding him.

He growled and bit at Thorin's mouth sharply, pleated his lower lip between his teeth as Thorin had done for him the night before and held firmly. He half-expected Thorin to go even wilder, or over the edge, as Bilbo had, but Thorin trembled sweetly and surrendered, his frantic motions gentling, and he moaned, long and plaintive into Bilbo's mouth. Bilbo licked over the bitten lip softly, and nuzzled into Thorin's hot, accepting warmth, and was met by a clever tongue that curled and slid and teased and begged. His breath was rasping in his throat and he was making soft noises of need as Bilbo kissed him, his hips pulsing restlessly. 

"Is this how you'll be when I take you, my love? Wild and restless?" Bilbo asked between kisses. 

"Bilbo," Thorin said, voice breaking. "I need..." 

"I know, I have you dearest, I have you." He kissed Thorin slowly, though Thorin's trembles didn't diminish much. Bilbo took his time drawing away. 

"I will take you to my mother's garden," he said softly, shifting again so he could trail his hand down Thorin's body and still lean to catch his mouth. "Shaded in part by apple trees, whose blossoms mean promise and abundance." Bilbo traced a slow hand down the sharply defined muscle of Thorin's belly, a beautiful flat plane, and scratched through the dark line of hair pointing the way down, and then again a little bit harder. "The garden is full of flowers of love. My father gave my mother the trees, and a flower or shrub every year of their marriage. Pink roses for gratitude, red roses for passion, white and red for unity, lavender for devotion." 

Thorin arched his hips, wordlessly asking, and Bilbo played with the line of dark hair a bit more, watching the muscles underneath tremble, listening to Thorin's soft moans. He drew back the sheet, baring Thorin to his eyes. Thorin's breath hitched in anticipation, and Bilbo moved his hand down very slowly, petting the dark line of hair down and down. He rested his hand on the the arch of bone right above Thorin's cock, and he whined, and growled out a few curse words in Khuzdul. "I would make a bed of flowers for you, thick and deep, of the softest petals, to see the red and white and pink against your dark skin and hair. I think that would look very fine." 

He reached out and laid a flat hand on Thorin's cock and petted it lightly, just soft idle strokes. Thorin twisted slowly, restless, trying to get more contact. "Your skin here is as soft as those rose petals, thin sweet velvet." He wrapped his hand loosely around Thorin's cock and continued the languid rhythm. "I'd undress you, take the soft clothes I made for you, all Durin blue and white and silver buttons, and lie you down on that bed of petals, so when I came to you, the scent of rose and lavender and love would rise all around us, would sink into our skin." 

"Bilbo," Thorin breathed. 

"I would have to taste you," Bilbo said softly. He leaned in to smell the musk of Thorin's skin, earth and stone and spice, and licked a stripe along the crease of his leg, where his thigh met his body. Thorin made a low sound of longing and his legs fell open, offering more room. Bilbo shifted carefully between them, mindful not to put too much pressure, and settled between Thorin's thighs, propped on all fours, hands on the bed bracketing his hips. "I would have to taste you, and take you first this way." He bent his head and licked Thorin from root to tip, and once again. Thorin threw his head back, his breath sobbing out, hands gripping the sheets. Bilbo paused to look at him. "I would take you like this," he continued, murmuring between long, slow licks. "Because you are so beautiful in your pleasure, and I want to see you lost in it. Because I would want you relaxed for me, and because I would want you to rise to your peak for me twice. Once like this, once with me inside you." 

"Bilbo, _please._ " 

"I aim to, dearest," Bilbo said, and took him in his mouth, one hand wrapped around the shaft and gave himself over to loving Thorin thus, nothing in his ears but the sound of Thorin's cries, nothing under his hands but soft skin and bedsheets, and the warm, rising scent of heady musk. 

They were of a different scale, the two of them, and Thorin's cock stretched his mouth a bit, but it was a good stretch. As he licked up a vein, Bilbo remembered how Thorin had stroked that little web of skin between crown and foreskin on him the night before, and stroked his tongue over the spot on Thorin, which caused him to writhe under Bilbo's caress, hips rocking fast, and Bilbo picked up the rhythm and licked at that spot until Thorin was nigh keening, then swallowed him down to suckle and stroke, strong and deep, keeping pace, and the sounds Thorin was making, Green Lady, the sounds, pleasure and frustration and lust and then the soft cries of his own name, coming out of Thorin's red, bitten mouth with such tenderness and need. A heart-swell of love crested within Bilbo, and everything he'd been holding back, tending to Thorin, caught fire within him and he moaned, and pressed his aching cock against Thorin's thigh. Thorin made a deep groan,himself, longing and low and with one last thrust of his hips, took his pleasure from Bilbo's mouth. Bilbo kept up his caresses even as he teetered on the edge himself, until Thorin's tremors ceased. 

"Come here," Thorin said in a rough voice. "Come here now." 

Somehow Bilbo managed it, nearly blind with desire, and was kneeling by Thorin's shoulder in the next moment, Thorin half-turned, his arm curling around Bilbo's hips to hold him close and sliding his mouth over Bilbo, an appreciative, content purr in his throat, and slid one slow finger down Bilbo's backside and down, to a spot just behind Bilbo's balls and pressed in firmly as he swallowed around his cock. For a breathless moment, Bilbo was staring down at the way Thorin's lashes fanned against his cheeks, the redness of his lips, and then Thorin swallowed again and pulled Bilbo's pleasure out of him in a slow, trembling wave. He licked and sucked softly until Bilbo was too sensitive to bear it, then pulled away with a satisfied and slightly smug smack of his lips, and a smoldering glance. Bilbo laughed at the joy of it, and carefully fell down into the bed. They lay grinning at one another, until Thorin found the strength to thumb a bit of his spend off the corner of Bilbo's mouth. Bilbo inched over until he could lean in for a kiss, and they spent a few unhurried moments kissing and touching one another lazily. 

"I want to see that garden," Thorin murmured. 

"I'll take you there someday." He kissed Thorin's nose. "So you won't get lost." 

Thorin snapped his teeth at him, and Bilbo laughed. "Someone has to help me pack, after all." 

To watch the implication of his words dawn in Thorin's eyes was a beautiful thing, to watch joy, anticipation and contentment spread across his battered face and ease away the lines of care. That's what Bilbo wanted to do, he decided, put just that look in Thorin's eyes as often as possible. 

"Where did you think I was going to live?" 

Thorin snorted. "I expected there would be a discussion about it." 

BIlbo shrugged. "At your side is _at your side._ In case you were unclear." Thorin leaned in to bite at Bilbo's lower lip.

"You love your home." 

"As do you." 

Thorin just looked at him, eyes growing a little hazy with sleep, but lit with that glow of contentment and joy. The look of going forward together. Bilbo let himself be pulled into an ardent kiss with a smile, rather content himself.

~~ _Fin_ ~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to stop here, as I have several other writing projects pressing, namely "Pearl of the Evening" and a whackado little gem that is, once again, Darthstich's fault. I may pick this up later, but I can't and won't promise anything. "Pearl" will be the main exploration of how a married/courting Bilbo and Thorin navigate the darker waters of the rest of the story. And this story is the last of my four "blowing off steam" fics stemming from getting stuck on "And Spirit," with the result of "Pearl of the Evening - The Rewrite" becoming the root of what I believe will be a stronger story in the end. 
> 
> It's been fascinating to tread the same territory at Beorn's once with Martin!Bilbo and once with girl!Bilbo. I do find there's an different approach to the trajectory of the relationship depending on gender coming from my brain, for good or ill, and tweaking the "One" concept for each story slightly. There was also an awful lot of bleed through of plot and interaction; I didn't really mean to go the "One" route in this story, but it keeps coming out of Thorin's mouth, and I had about 500 words written before I remembered I was in the wrong story. Oops. So, "Pearl" will be hard enough without writing a parallel plot line. 
> 
> My big goal with this story was to find my Bilbo voice, get them on equal footing emotionally, and Thorin being able to let go was the last puzzle piece. Also, I wanted to use the doggies at Beorn's as well as the sheep. Dog eyebrows are so expressive. 
> 
> Anywho, there's a bit of DVD commentary. Thank you for reading and commenting! You're all darlings.


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